


one more time with feeling

by Soulykins



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Five visits his younger self, Gen, Time Travel, and entrusts the future to him, canon!Five technically dies, i'm not sure if it counts? but just in case, the major character death is five's future self so i mean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 08:34:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20468120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soulykins/pseuds/Soulykins
Summary: When Five Hargreeves is four-years-old, he discovers his power.He also discovers a whole lot more than that.They’re all figuring out their powers, and as a consequence they all move out of the nursery into their own rooms after a somewhat unfortunate incident regarding the discovery of Six’s powers. Regardless, Five isn’t very fond of the new arrangement because he’s lonely.He can’t sleep without the sounds of his siblings around him. One’s sleepy whuffling and Four’s random exclamations, Six shuffling around and Two kicking his blankets off in the night. It’s too quiet.That is, of course, when the man falls into his room.





	one more time with feeling

**Author's Note:**

> what's up everyone this started as a snippet and became - whatever this is now lmao
> 
> major character death warning is for older Five who is technically canon Five, who is not the narrator Five. I know, alternate universes and time travel confusion, right? this is just a one shot but I hope y'all enjoy it for what it is! just a bit of fun ;v;
> 
> if you like this and my writing check me out on https://in-tua-deep.tumblr.com where I post a lot of rambling and au ideas ;3c

When Five Hargreeves is four-years-old, he discovers his power.

He also discovers a whole lot more than that.

They’re all figuring out their powers, and as a consequence they all move out of the nursery into their own rooms after a somewhat unfortunate incident regarding the discovery of Six’s powers. Regardless, Five isn’t very fond of the new arrangement because he’s lonely.

He can’t sleep without the sounds of his siblings around him. One’s sleepy whuffling and Four’s random exclamations, Six shuffling around and Two kicking his blankets off in the night. It’s too quiet. 

That is, of course, when the man falls into his room.

He arrives in a flash of blue. The same blue that Five himself recognizes like an old friend, because it’s the one he embraces and falls into because it feels so incredibly right, the one he pulls to him to jump. At the abrupt arrival, Five had scuttled backwards and curled into an alarmed ball, like a hedgehog. 

He scrubs at the tears that definitely weren’t falling as the man on his carpet groans.

“Who - who’re you?” Five asks, definitely not scared, because he’s not. He’s not a baby. The man just groans in response. And now that Five is looking, he’s not like. Old old. He’s not Dad old. He’s not a grown-up, but he is a big kid. 

He’s not quite as scary now that he’s not so old, so Five gingerly scooches to the edge of the bed to lower himself down to the floor. He pads across the cold bedroom floor and kneels down, hesitating before patting the boy on the cheek.

“You gotta wakey.” Five whispers, “Dad’ll be really really mad.”

The boy rouses at least, eyes snapping open and pushing himself up to his elbows with a loud groan. Five shushes him, because it’ll be real bad if his Dad comes in and finds the guy. 

“What the fuck.” The boy wheezes, and Five tilts his head at the unfamiliar word. 

They stare at each other for a solid minute. Five gets impatient enough that he reaches up and rests his hand against the boy’s cheek again, like he patted him into wakefulness the first time. The boy leans back, as if startled.

“What’s your name?” Five asks the boy. He feels like he should probably ask some other questions, like what this guy is doing in his room, and how he has the same powers as Five, but he feels like he already knows. Or at least, the answer he’ll get now is a confirmation of a suspicion. 

“How old are you?” The boy asks him, instead.

“Four.” Five holds up four whole fingers proudly. Next year he’ll get to hold up five fingers, the most superior of all the numbers.

“Fuck.” The boy says the word again, bringing up his hands to his face and wheezing into them. 

“Are you me?” Five asks bluntly, since he’s pretty sure he figured it out. The blue light was his blue light after all, familiar as the back of his own hand. 

The boy sighs again. He sighs an awful lot. “Not if I have anything to say about it.” He mutters, which makes Five frown in confusion. He’s a very confusing version of himself, this boy.

“You’re weird.” Five informs his older self very seriously. 

“Well I am you.” The boy says reflectively, and Five almost feels like he should be offended but he’s too busy being curious.

Five frowns as he chases a tendril of thought to a logical conclusion, “If you’re me,” He starts slowly, sounding out each words, “If you’re me and you’re _old_, then you’re from… the future? So that means… I can jump time?”

“No.” The boy cuts him off, frighteningly pale all of a sudden. His eyes are wild in a way that makes Five flinch backwards, putting just a little bit of distance between him and, well, himself. Five can’t help but look doubtful, because really it’s the only obvious answer.

The boy at least looks somewhat apologetic for his sharpness, though he doesn’t say anything about it. Five knows that the nannies would insist on someone saying “I’m sorry” so that they make up, but Five can think of half a dozen things his dad has done that the nannies would say would merit an apology and _he_ never does it. 

“Hey,” The boy says, breaking the silence that has fallen between them. He looks older all of a sudden, and Five almost reconsiders his judgement of the boy’s age. “Hey, do you want to hear a story?”

And of course, those are the magic words. Five _loves_ stories and has been known to constantly badger the nannies for one. Eyes bright, Five nods hard enough that he almost loses his balance before running over to the bookcase full of children’s books with big fonts. 

He’s supposed to be learning how to read for himself, so he can tell himself stories, but that’s never seemed half as much fun.

“No, no.” The boy shakes his head, making Five look back. “Not one of those, I have a story for you, but it isn’t in a book.”

The boy hauls himself up, crouching low to the ground with his arm curling around his stomach. He huffs and puffs like the wolf in one of Five’s storybooks as he staggers over to the bed to sit down. It’s a little bit like when Four doesn’t want to do something and makes a big production out of everything, except much quieter. 

Five shrugs and pads over, but when he crosses the patch of floor where his older self had appears he automatically jumps back a few feet in a flash of blue light, eyes wide. But jumping doesn’t change what startled him - his feet are wet.

Cautiously, he tiptoes forward and crouches down. There’s black shiny stuff on the floor, puddled and smeared with a sharp metallic smell, like rust in the rain. He recognizes it in a way no young child should. He pops up and fixes an accusing eye on the older boy. “You’re hurt!”

“I am, yes.” The boy admits easily, waving one careless hand. The other hand stays firmly tucked against his side. “Should’ve warned you, my bad.”

“I can go get a nanny!” Five says urgently, already walking to the door, “I’m sure they’ll know - ”

“No!” The boy once again cuts him off sharply and just a little bit too loudly. They both freeze in place, waiting to see if they’ll get caught, but nothing stirs in the house that they can hear. The boy sighs, again. “Don’t worry about me, it’s fine. Just come here - like I said, I have a story to tell you. It’s very important.”

Five is somewhat doubtful that a story is more important than getting fixed up and getting magic kisses, but he figures his older self probably knows more about that kind of stuff anyway. So against his better judgement, Five trots on over and allows the boy to help him scramble up onto the bed until he’s tucked against the older boy’s side. 

“You have to stay awake for this.” The boy whispers, jiggling Five’s arm when he doesn’t respond fast enough. “It’s important.”

“Dad says that stories aren’t important.” Five whispers back.

“Dad’s wrong.” The boy says firmly, ignoring Five’s little gasp. “This story is the most important story you’re ever going to hear, okay? This story is going to save the world. And it starts on October 1st, 1989. On that day, forty-three children were born, which would have been unremarkable except for the fact that none of the mother’s were pregnant when the day began…”

Five listens, and any time he starts to drop off the boy shakes him awake again and makes sure he’s paying attention before continuing. He listens, even as the boy has to pause more and more often, as he starts wheezing in between sentences.

But the boy is patient, more patient than Five thought he would be. 

“I like the names they got.” Five whispers, patting the boy’s cold hand a few times to get his attention. Luther, Allison, Diego, Klaus, Ben, Vanya. “Do we get a name?”

“My name is Five.” The boy tells him softly, as if imparting a secret. He smiles, and Five pretends he doesn’t see the blood on the boy’s teeth. “But you don’t have to be, maybe this time around you’ll pick something out. I don’t know. Isn’t the future a wonderful thing?”

Five rather thinks the future is a _scary_ thing, considering the story he’s just been told. But rather than think about that, Five has another question. “How come you forgot about Seven’s powers?”

The boy falls silent. Five thinks it’s a fair enough question. Seven blew him into a wall yesterday because someone’s car alarm went off outside, he still has the bruise. He doesn’t think he’d forget about that just because she went away for a week or something.

“Go get me one of your books,” The boy says, putting a clammy hand on Five’s shoulder and giving him a little push, “And the blue crayon.”

If nothing convinced Five that they were the same before, it was that. Sheepishly, Five hopped down and went to retrieve the requested items. This time, he made sure to avoid the blood still pooled on his floor. 

“Grab me your favorite, the one you read every night. But not the one that the nannies read.” The boy asks, and Five obeys.

He scuttles back and hands the book and crayon over, hoisting himself back onto the bed so he can watch. He almost protests when the boy flips it open and starts writing on the pages, but holds his tongue.

As if sensing this, the boy looks up. His eyes are soft and just a little bit glazed. “You were right,” The boy tells him, which makes Five preen just a little bit, “You - _I_ should have remembered Vanya’s powers. It seems dumb that we just forgot, which means something made us forget. I’m just - I’m leaving you a reminder.”

The scribbling continues for a good while, and Five almost protests at how much his blue crayon is being worn down by all this but holds his tongue. Five is slightly more concerned by the fact that the boy’s hands are trembling and that he’s breathing really loudly. But eventually he comes to a stop, closing the book gently - like it was the most precious thing in the world.

The boy hands it to Five with a nod, “Go put that away, okay? Dad - Dad’d never think to look in a kid’s book. But, but you have to remember. Keep it secret, don’t let anyone see it, okay? It’s only for you.”

“What about Four and Six?” Five asks, aghast. They’re his bracket siblings, the ones on either side of his own number. They share _everything._ But even as he asks, he’s scooting off the bed to return the book (and the crayon) to their rightful places in the room.

The boy’s lips quirk up into something almost like a smile, or Five thinks it might have become one if the boy didn’t also look so terribly sad. “You can’t tell anyone about any of this. You can’t tell them you met me, you can’t tell anyone I even existed, okay?”

“Why not?” Five demands to know.

“You’ll get in trouble.” The boy whispers, looking terribly serious. “More trouble that you’ve ever been in before. Worse than when you drew on the wall. You can’t tell anyone, you understand?”

Five doesn’t understand at all. But the boy looks very serious.

“Promise me.” The boy says fiercely, “You promise me you won’t tell anyone about tonight.”

Five considers this for a moment before tentatively sticking out a pinky. That’s how people make promises in his books at least, though Five has never made a big enough promise to necessitate it. This feels like an appropriate time though, and it makes the boy smile just a little more than before which is another win.

A finger much bigger than his own wraps around his and squeezes on just that side of too tight before being released. They nod at one another in confirmation of a deal made.

“Alright,” The boy wheezes, sitting up a little straighter and looking a little more pale as he does so. “Now here’s what’s going to happen now. You’re going to go to one of the others’ rooms to sleep, okay? And in the morning, tell - tell Dad you were scared and left early. You didn’t see or hear anything strange last night. You weren’t in your room. You didn’t meet me, you didn’t hear a story, and you definitely don’t say anything about the book, okay?”

“But I’ll get in _trouble._” Five protests, because Dad told them that sleeping together was for babies and that they weren’t supposed to do it anymore. Admittedly he also doesn’t want his siblings to call him a baby, either. But he gets a harsh look for his concerns.

“If Dad finds out we met, you’ll be in even _more_ trouble.” The boy bares his teeth, and maybe Five should find it scary but he just feels a little bit sad.

He can’t help but ask - “What about you? Will you get in trouble?” 

The boy wheezes out a quiet laugh, “No. I’ll just - disappear. I won’t get in trouble with Dad, I promise. But you probably won’t even see me again, okay?” The boy shakes his head at Five’s frown, “I’m not supposed to be here, anyway. It’ll be fine, don’t worry about me. Worry about yourself. Off you go now, go to Be - go to Six’s room. He’s probably the one most likely to back you up without asking too many questions.”

Before he can go, FIve scrambles back up on the bed. The boy’s reaction is too delayed to stop him, and Five manages to clap both his hands against each of the boy’s cheeks to pull his head around to look him in the eye. “Don’t worry.” Five parrots, and then gives the boy a cheeky grin, “I’m gonna make things better, ‘kay? No ‘pocalypse.” And then, before he can think better of it, he leans forward and presses a kiss right between the boy’s eyebrows, the way the nannies do when one of them are terribly upset and beside themselves.

The boy brings up a trembling hand to pat at Five’s head, lopsided grin small but sincere. “I know. I believe in you, kid.”

And it’s on that note that Five creeps down off the bed and tiptoes out of the room, only pausing once to wave to the boy for the last time. He sneaks down the hallways, into Six’s room, and slides into a bed. Admittedly, it is very late and his eyes are heavy with sleep so it takes no time at all for Five to just… slip away.

-

He’s abruptly woken in the morning by being yanked out of bed. The grip on his arm is bruising and he cries out, tears springing up in his eyes. Distantly, he can hear Six starting to cry as well as he’s hauled to his feet and shaken a few times.

His father’s face looms before him, and Five tries to yank his arm away even knowing how futile it is.

“What are you doing in here, Number Five?” His father demands, and suddenly the last night comes rushing back to him in vivid technicolor. Suddenly the tears in his eyes aren’t due to the rough treatment.

But he remembers what the boy had said, about getting in trouble for sneaking out of his room versus the amount of trouble he’d get in if it was discovered he’d spoken to his future self. Admittedly, the boy had had some very colorful opinions about their father that he’d made clear during the story. 

Five remembers the promise he made, and looks up at his dad as his tears overflow and drip down his cheeks. “It was - it was too quiet!” He sobs, and the fact that it was also the truth certainly helps. “I just - I’m sorry! I’ll sleep in my room from now on, I promise!”

His father pauses, face smoothing out just a little. His grip on Five’s arm hurts a little less.

(There will still be bruises though, stark against pale skin that he’ll examine later that night before pulling his pajama sleeve down before pretending it doesn’t bother him.)

“You were out of your room all night?” His father asks, voice even and calculating. Five knows what he’s really asking, he’s asking if Five was in the room when the boy appeared. If Five saw the boy.

And for the first time, Five looks his father in the eye and he _lies_. “I’m sorry.” He sniffles, and maybe a four-year-old shouldn’t be thinking quite so calculatingly, but Five could never be accused of being normal. “I just - It was so _quiet_ an’ I couldn’t sleep an’ I’m sorry!”

“You didn’t wake up in the night?” His father continues to press, but he doesn’t look suspicious. In fact, he looks just a tiny bit relieved - though it’s difficult to tell behind the monocle and mustache. “Didn’t hear anything strange or see anything odd?”

“Uh uh!” Five denies, shaking his head with wide eyes, “Six was ‘sleep when I got in an’ he didn’t have an accident, promise!”

Six makes a protesting noise behind him, but considering that an unfortunate tentacle incident is part of the reason why they got split up into separate rooms in the first place. Five figures that if he really has no clue what had gone down last night, that’s what he’d assume his dad is asking about.

“This incident won’t be repeated.” Reginald demands imperiously before turning on his heel and walking out the door with nothing more that an irritated, “Report for breakfast immediately!”

That had both Five and Six scrambling to brush off their pajamas and out the door to head downstairs. Five was almost thankful - there wasn’t enough time for Six to interrogate him about anything or ask why he’d been a big baby by sneaking in to sleep or anything.

The day is almost distressingly normal, except for the fact that the Nannies bring down their clothes instead of having them all get dressed in their rooms today. All of them know better than to question Dad’s orders, but all but Five share puzzled looks between themselves regardless.

As soon as they find themselves released for the day, Five trots up the stairs and tries not to look too eager to return to his room. Thankfully, it’s not abnormal for Five to spend his free time absorbed in his books and begging the nannies to read to him, or else sounding out the words on his own.

He enters his room and the first thing he notices is that it’s spotless. The bed is made, the floor is clean, and there is a distinct lack of anyone else. It’s like last night was erased, like it never even happened.

Five could almost convince himself that it had been a weird dream, except for the fact that when he looks down there’s a tiny brown drop near his pant cuffs that he’s almost positive is dried blood. Though thankfully, Reginald had missed it. And when he crouched down where he knew the boy had appeared, he could smell chemicals. 

He walks over to the bookcase with careful steps, pulling down a familiar book and flipping open the pages to gaze at the blue crayon words. He doesn’t understand a lot of them, and some were really long, but it wasn’t exactly the kind of book he could take to someone and ask about, either.

Five sits cross-legged on his floor, and decides to try anyway.

(Later that week, he watches his father install cameras all around the mansion, including in each child’s bedroom. Five’s is the first to have the camera installed, and he wonders.

A year later, he frowns down at blue crayon writing and traces his fingers over the fact that apparently his ordinary sister has _powers_. He is sure he would remember something like that, sure he would remember Vanya being as powerful as the words said. Surely Reginald would use Vanya if she was as powerful as this implied? His father was so scornful of them wasting their talents, after all. He traces his fingers over hurried letter and he _doubts_.

He watches Vanya take her pills, and he wonders. And maybe that attention makes him Vanya’s closest confidant, makes him pay her more attention than he would have otherwise. Makes him insist on her inclusion instead of just shrugging apologetically and leaving her behind.

He reads his book, with its hastily scribbled notes, and defends it valiantly even when Luther teases him about still having a _baby_ book. After that, he carefully transcribes what is written in childish handwriting, including also every scrap of information he could remember from the boy’s story that night. 

He jumps into Klaus’s room after training nights and presses his hand into his brother’s, rubbing gently to bring warmth back to cold fingers. He escalates into jumping into the mausoleum when he thinks he could get away with it, armed with a flashlight and playing cards and a determination to not let Klaus drown.

He sits at a table at thirteen-years-old, suddenly furious. He clenches his fists in his pants and tells himself to breathe through his fury.

He doesn’t expect, the next day, when the woman in blond with the bloody red smile shows up. He knows her, in the same way children know a comic book villain. He knows before she even opens her mouth who she is - the Handler. She asks him, all saccharine sweetness, if he’s a good little boy who obeys his father.

He knows what she’s doing, he knows she’s trying to goad him into disobeying his father. Probably so that he’ll try to time travel. He’s off schedule, after all. 

He wonders if the changes he’s made will be enough. He wonders if maybe the Handler will leave his family alone if he doesn’t conform to her expectations. He wonders if he can afford to take that chance.

That night, he pulls out a new notebook and writes a new story. He writes about a child who, one night, has a boy fall into the middle of his room and tell him a story. He writes about mopped up blood and a disappeared body. He writes about the child’s sister, who has powers and doesn’t know it. He writes about a woman with red lipstick who won’t rest until she gets what she wants, won’t stop until the world has ended, and how she has her sights fixed on him. He writes about how scared he is, but that he’ll see his family again in seventeen years if all goes well.

He slips his notebook under Vanya’s pillow with a big _don’t read until Reginald Hargreeves is dead_ on the cover. He trusts his sister, that she won’t look. 

He writes another note to Ben, a piece of paper that only says the year that Ben is supposed to die. He begs his brother to live until he returns, begs his brother to just run away if nothing else can be done, and to look after Klaus in the meantime.

And then, and only then, does Five walk outside. The night air is cold - it’s November, after all. He stares at his reflection in a shop window, and sees the same face that showed up in his room all those years ago. That face had looked more pale, more tired, but Five figures he has time to get there.

He clenches his fists, and let’s blue wash over him and Five - 

falls.)

**Author's Note:**

> as usual i have no editor and frankly atrocious spelling so if y'all catch any errors feel free to yeet them at me in the comments so I can get 'em fixed right away!
> 
> I do plan to continue my other fics I promise but I just started my doctoral program so I have to get into the groove of things before I think about fanfic things rip


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